Journal
by C. C. Cr0ss
Summary: In which, we travel through Sherlock Holmes memories. "I'm not doing this because I actually need to; that would be embarrassing."


I don't own BBC's Sherlock… and that is probably the best thing that could happen to the Universe – I mean, just look at what you're going to read!

Before anything happens, I know this is might be _very _flawed in aspects of time, and I know that; but I needed to change the date so many times… well.  
I know Lestrade might be a mix of Gregson and Lestrade – but let's just pretend they aren't for the sake of this: the longest one-shot I've ever written, and let me tell you, it was almost complete three months ago; you really can't do a journal fanfiction if you haven't watched _The Hounds of Baskerville (Now, I have, thank you).._. Also, it might be out of character, it has lots of headcanons and the final entry is _really _weird.

(It also started with a drawing...)

_You have been warned._

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_Journal_

* * *

_**Wednesday, 0ctober 7, 1987.**_

For some ulterior reason, Mommy has decided to take me to the psychiatrist; it's been like that for a while now. I do not enjoy it.

I sit for the whole hour while I watch the shrink making annotations on her notebook – probably about the fact I decide not to say anything. She believes I don't want to talk about whatever is bugging me. _Nothing is bugging me_. I am only observing that she's too upset about her own life to have the compulsion to have three different shrinks of her own – or to not care about her own daughter; the smell of alcohol is noticeable within the range of 4 feet of distance.

She spoke to my mother about 'developing trusting issues' – which I don't have (I just decide not to trust anyone, _thank you very much_), and advised my mother to buy me a journal – so I could 'express myself freely'…

I am _not _doing this because I actually need to; that would be embarrassing - I just don't want to worry Mommy.

_**Sunday, November 20, 1988.**_

_I was diagnosed as a 'High Functioning Sociopath' today._

_It's not something certain, although 'High Functioning Sociopath' does have a nice ring to it._

_**Saturday, November 25, 1989.**_

Mom has finally given up on the idea of the psychiatrist sessions – which brings me a really weird feeling of success; although she has decided that we are to be baby-sited by a 32 year old lady with an unhappy marriage.

She has no jewels on, other than her wedding band (It looks like she used to wear a necklace and two different types of earrings with pride not so long ago in the last six months. Those were more likely given to her by her husband).

The band seemed to be used only out of compromise and routine – I couldn't help noticing she seemed to glance harshly at the object on her finger every five minutes or so; its state gave away nothing more than the fact it wasn't taken care of properly. It looked old and rusty – but it was obvious she hadn't been married for longer than fifteen years. There was violence in the union – mostly verbal. It was fairly obvious – she looked as if she were grieving every time she thought no one was looking.

I like her. She does not mind other people's business, and she doesn't want other people to mind hers. This lady has been taking care of us for the last weeks (– Mommy has been too busy taking care of the family business since Father left), and most importantly, this woman has started to take part in our lives. Or at least in mine, at that – Mycroft isn't very fond of Ms. Hudson.

_**Tuesday, December 12, 1989**__._

Scotland Yard keeps on saying that I am too young to even try to solve a case. My brother has been trying to make the Yard listen to me, although it surprises me, it is not without a reason he's on my side on this – we both know it couldn't be anything less than a murder.

Mycroft told me to be quiet about it, but he overheard Carl Powers' trainers are no longer on the crime scene. I must solve this soon, but it will be difficult – the crime is almost flawless.

_**Monday, June 24, 1991.**_

Father died today. I didn't care enough to attend the funeral.

_**Friday, July 5, 1991.**_

Mycroft has been sick – at first I thought it wasn't severe; I even thought it wasn't of importance; we now know he developed an eating disorder – Mommy worries too much, Ms. Hudson hopes he will be alright soon. It's affecting Mycroft in a really peculiar and twisted way. I really don't want to think about it – I'm almost sorry I could deduce his thoughts because of his state of illness. I think I might need to read that Medical Book for the fifth time this week.

Father died two weeks ago; I know better than anyone it's not because of that ("Caring is not an option." he said) – but mother implies. And that frustrates Mycroft.

_**Thursday, July 18, 1991. **_

Mycroft fell into a coma.

It is the tenth time I read that Medical book this week. I need another one.

_**Friday, February 21, 1992.**_

_Mycroft's looking better. _Well, at least better than he did five months ago. Mommy has – gratefully – stopped being worried. He won't talk about the reason of his illness – I decided not to push too hard.

His stitches are finally scarring, and he's been self-conscious since the operation (Correction: more self-conscious). Ms. Hudson has been secretly pouring bigger (but unnoticeable) portions of whatever we eat on his plate – she also has been taking care that I eat at least three times a week. It bothers me a little, but Mommy is glad.

_**Thursday, January 7, 1993.**_

There is no real clue about Carl Powers murderer even after all these years – but Scotland Yard has finally decided to listen to me since I helped them with two cases barely two weeks ago.  
I never thought solving cases would be as interesting as it is; I might even decide to become a detective – not a normal one, though. A consulting detective – I'll probably be inventing the job.

_**Tuesday, May 16, 1995.**_

Mommy is worried about the fact I decided not to skip a year in College. Mycroft is surprised, too. They shouldn't – I believe I told them more than once that the laboratory was a great place to work in. Besides, I have an acquaintance that is not much of a pain to be around – and I seem to entertain him for some reason, he told me it was something about my age.

It wasn't really important.

_**Sunday, March 24, 1996.**_

_Ms. Hudson asked for my help._

Her husband is to be given the death penance for the several crimes he's been blamed for and committed. I know she has no interest in saving him (The bruises she showed me completely made me understand what it was she needed). I have the ability to kill two birds with one rock – the Hudson siblings' case and actually doing something nice for Ms. Hudson by not only helping her – but also making sure her husband is dead by the end of the week.

_**Friday, August 8, 1997**__._

Mycroft has been searching my help for a while.  
I suppose it's not about the Mary Poppins like umbrella I gave him for his birthday (Of course I would mock him when I found out about his deep fascination for Poppins. It would be a misery to let such an opportunity pass).

He says his_ client _needs help in a case_ –_it's dull and… _easy; Mycroft should know better than that. _I suppose he's trying to drag me into it; I'd rather not help him and try to keep a distance from his 'client' and his 'minor' position in the Government.

_**Tuesday, March 9, 1999.**_

Mommy gave me a lecture today. She wants grandchildren.

_I'd like to know how she hopes for me to consider I can be a good father when I barely knew mine._

_**Wednesday, November 3, 1999.**_

There has been a mass murder. It's also the most exciting thing that has happened in years.  
Gregson says it's not normal to be that excited – he still trusts I am not the murderer. In which he's right – I may be bored, but not in that way.  
It's weird he keeps trusting me after he found out about my diagnosed high functioning 'sociopathy' – most people decide not to speak to me again when they find out.

_**Friday, December 31, 1999**__._

Mom decided we needed to spend the Holidays together – I'm afraid I cannot get myself out of her plans.

It's going to be a long night, indeed.

_**Monday, April 30, 2001.**_

There are new employees at Scotland Yard.  
Anderson can lower the IQ of the whole street with only his presence. I have nothing against Sally Donovan; I did tell her to take care of herself with things that had to do with people like Anderson – she wouldn't want her children to be stupid, right? For some reason she was highly offended by that.  
Gregson finally managed to be the 'boss' around his division. He seems to have conflicting emotions about that. Boring. It's almost dull that he will be replaced in five years

_**Wednesday, October 31, 2001.**_

There was a murder tonight.

Gregson was surprised (and also a bit frightened) by my conclusion – seeing it was correct, anyway. Sally is assuming I might be the murderer – she always does. I do not have to 'assume' she wore Anderson's clothes this morning; she always stinks of Anderson's cologne when his wife is gone on a business trip.

It's the fifth time this year – it's almost pathetic.

_**Friday, December 14, 2001.**_

There hasn't been any case since the Halloween one. Dull, crimes should be something that happens every day._  
_I think I might start having a problem with my dealer soon – but that has little to nothing to do with my money.

_**Saturday, April 27, 2002**__._

Had the right answer to an investigation… it was that of a kidnap in which the Yard hadn't accomplished to find the kidnapped child – nor the kidnapper.

I solved the case… the child died. Sally hates me for it.

_**Sunday, April 28, 2002.**_

I had an experiment today:

Found out I can't hold my liquor.

_**Tuesday, August 6, 2002.**_

Gregson needed my help for another kidnap.

I refused.

_**Friday, August 9, 2002.**_

Scotland Yard didn't need my help for the kidnap case_. Amazing._

_**Tuesday, November 12, 2002.**_

There is a new employee at the morgue, her name is Molly Hopper.  
She doesn't get in my way – although she enjoys watching my experiments; I might not be proud to say she helped me with a case today – not that I needed any help. I just needed an idea that supported my conclusion.  
Hers did.

_**Monday, August 25, 2003.**_

I've been experimenting a good amount of things my brother wouldn't be proud of. Not that I actually am trying to make him proud – but on the contrary.  
Although I have been using them for recreational activities (such as deducting, for an example), I know there is no actual chance for me to develop a 'real' addiction to them, whatsoever. It's just an experiment.

_**Friday, September 12, 2003.**_

_Gregson has been suspecting I might be consuming… I don't know why or how he knows the symptoms, but he's probably going to look for something that will incriminate me._

_I won't let him find out if I can._

**Monday, January 26, 2004**.

Today I arrived at my flat to find it a little messier than it was this morning. I found Gregson inside – he was in the middle of a drug bust.

He also started swearing like a sailor – he'd surely hoped I wouldn't be back for a while.

Luckily I had taken all my stuff out of the apartment that morning. Although I could always lie – although I'm not sure if he would ever believe me; I'm fairly lucky he didn't read the journal, and if he did – I wouldn't want to know. The journal almost the same looks as it did this morning – passed through three different pairs of hands – they probably wanted to know what it was… I am really hopeful they didn't read anything past page two.

**Sunday, April 18, 2004.**

Gregson hasn't stopped thinking (suspecting - whatever) I might be consuming.  
He's planning to make another drug bust on my flat two weeks from now. I might not be ready for that; but I'll try to hide everything. _Everything._

**Friday, June 04, 2004**.

I don't even know what I'm doing anymore and that frightens me. It truly does.

**Thursday September 30, 2004.**

Gregsons's division broke into the dock I go for my stuff to… and he saw me there. He wasn't as surprised as everyone else (One could even say he was sure I'd be there) – but he has good reasons to suspect things – I haven't been as careful as before. He _knows, _he just doesn't know that yet. And he can't prove anything since I didn't run away.  
He asked me what I was doing there – I lied. It's good to be a consulting detective – you can go around on your own and no one will actually question if you're telling the truth or not.

_**Monday, January 24, 2005.**_

_I need help. _

_**Sunday, April 3, 2005.**_

Lestrade – the new director of Gregson's former division, found me last week in one of the half-dead states I've brought myself to. He says that, even though I try to 'trick myself' to think they are only to implement and fasten my brain waves I need nothing more than stopping the addiction (I'm not dependent of them – he just doesn't want to acknowledge that fact).

I have no idea of what exact state he found me in. Guessing I would say: collapsed on the floor (probably passed out) with blood attentively dripping from my forearm (I'm not stupid enough to hit a vein – but he still worries). I'm still dizzy – probably from blood loss.

I am utterly drained of my energy. Thinking is even_ exhausting. I can actually sleep._

I've actually forgotten the last time I had a decent nap.

He's warned Ms. Hudson if my deductions are correct – he wants to take care of me - I suppose years from now he'll try his best to make _her _take care of me (- as if she hasn't had enough of me already).

It's a pity they are worrying about _me _when there are more important things to take care of; like that murder on Baker Street. The clues I can deduce from just reading the papers are fascinating, although they are hiding things from the public eye, I fear.

Lestrade is not going to let me any near to a case if he's going to take me to rehab. _That's just a time waste. He should understand that. He really should… He doesn't even know me. Why take the risk?_

_**Tuesday, May 19, 2009.**_

It's weird to use this journal again – it's been so long.

Getting out of rehab was harder than I expected it to be. Not exactly because I couldn't deal with the addiction – but they wouldn't believe me when I told them I was alright – with no addiction whatsoever at the end of the first week; it was completely dull – and… monotonous.

_But I've managed._

Frankly I stopped using the journal when I was at it because the people there were boring – helpless. They could have stories worse than mine… but they were so similar to each other that it didn't surprise anyone anymore.

I wonder what it's like inside of their little troubled heads.

_**Friday, January 29, 2010.**_

Mike Stamford – and old colleague, introduced me to a man today – John Watson.

He is a retired Army doctor that used to do service at Afghanistan - he retired because of an injury – his brother_ sister'_s an alcoholic, and his _her _wife left. He is looking for a flat – just as I am.

I told him about Ms. Hudson's place – might as well give her a hand after all this time. I also told him the contras of being my flat mate... Although I did not say things I may have needed to mention then.

I just hope he won't be expecting for me to buy _milk_, or something. But I might be able to do something about his 'need' to use a cane.

He intrigues me in a weird way; we will be meeting tomorrow at 221B, Baker Street.

_**Monday, February 8, 2010.**_

_He moved in a week ago._

"_A Study in Pink" _– John called the case that way on his blog -; he sure has the ability to… make weird names up for his blog entries; some of them are_ ingenious…_ not too many, though.

_But talking about the case – pink_; that became the most important thing to this case – I'm certainly glad I didn't have to play drunk on this case – some horrible things tend to happen to people who are completely capable of acting drunk… although it is a small percentage of people who can actually do it successfully_, one can always commit mistakes._

Where was I? Oh, yeah - the case. At first I had no more idea than John did mid case – it was exciting.  
Who is a person you trust without even knowing their name? Who is the one who has an invisible car? Passing once and again and again through our very eyes…

A London Cab! Out of all the people in London you shouldn't trust (and yet we _do!), _would be a cab driver.

He played with his victims minds… he settled mind games to shatter their fragile minds; he had a great mind of his own, indeed. He used specific information – something he knew would lead them to suicide; dull feelings overwhelming their need to live… he broke their minds – somehow he made them swallow the poison. It's a murder and yet it's suicide.

Eventually we used the woman cellphone's to track him down (She was clever too, cleverer than most people); follow her instructions to lead us to the killer.

In the end, the driver came to 221B Baker Street - for me, and I followed, saying absolutely nothing as I left – of course John suspected something and managed to find where we were

A fake gun, a very lethal venom and a high school laboratory – and with the pieces on the table we played the game.

I still don't know if I would have won or if I would have lost.

(Note to self: If I were to need the Yard to stop bugging – one can always use a 'trauma blanket' – they are quite effective.)

_**Tuesday, March 30, 2010.**_

"_The Blind Banker" _– oh, John did have a lot of fun writing that entry down.

A break in, a message – all in one minute; message that belonged to a threatened man – a murder; two-_three _murders; a banker, a journalist, a second message in a library; help needed from Raz – John was surprised ("_You? Help?")._

_Hangzhou _– a sign language; a smuggler – _a pair_ of smugglers – a robbery or a really precious item to the Chinese mafia. A tea ceremony and a girl, Soo Lin Yao, missing, disappeared, hidden -, two shining teapots when only one shone the day before. The Zhi Zhu mark, of the Black Lotus – two brothers, orphans –"We had no choice" she said. They found her the same night we did, she didn't survive – shot; the Book code involved.

A circus – _one single night_, something about John's date and a trick deathly with the bare touch of a feather (Tension), a spray can in the dressing room, the brother: an acrobat. We had the murderer.

John's silly little date interfered when we were back at 221B; yet she noticed something I hadn't – she might not be as helpless as I had thought. Soo Lin Yao started traducing for us right in front of our eyes and we didn't notice!

Ramping out, on an impulse I bumped into a pair of tourists who willingly borrowed me their translation book.

They were kidnapped – John… and Mary, of course (Would have been idiotic had they only took one of them). Both almost died.

Shang ran away – Van Coon had been the one that stole the object – a hairpin for his secretary, worth the price of nine million pounds – she knew nothing about it.

_**Saturday, April 3, 2010.**_

Today's_ (Yesterday's? Last week's?) _casewas…_ exciting._

_He called. Moriarty _called.

He used people to make me solve cases – mind games to entertain himself and only him (I must admit I was entertained at first…) – he _kidnaped _people; stole their identities -_ used their voices…_

An old woman died.

I am clueless s of why I took a kidnap case once again… I should probably slam my head against the wall several times if Lestrade dares to call me once again for a kidnap case… but, a chance as perfect as this to get to know how the mind of your (arch-) enemy works is always welcome.

I think I might need to pick up an Astronomy book (I think I haven't since 1986), even though it's completely useless.

He also kidnapped John – I'm too dangerous for him and yet there he is! _I say danger and he follows! _I _know _I probably shouldn't have dared risk John – for one time I was afraid; it is not only about me anymore… we both committed huge mistakes. For instance, I can't even hold a gun with a firm hand when I'm in danger. It's terrifying – imagine the fear of being completely responsible of someone else's life (hanging only by a string), on your head and soul – watching how they might die in front of your eyes and you can't even do _anything_… and then, when your head actually clears from the danger you're going through the thing you can only do is identify just _who _he attached a bomb to…

Moriarty has started a war… and I am sure I am going to win.

_**Wednesday, June 16, 2010.**_

This case was… unexpected – John says he doesn't understand why I would choose this case over the other ones. If he doesn't understand something as simple as that I don't want to know what it is he can actually comprehend.

It was a mystery – the guy was becoming insane – John thought he already was. Maybe the case was greater than we all thought it was going to be (at least I did)… until we had to disguise ourselves as two ninjas to follow the comic (- graphic novel!) story just to promote it.

'The Geek Interpreter' – I think I might be becoming a little too fond of John's entries names.

_**Sunday, August 1, 2010.**_

'Sherlock Holmes – Baffled' (I'm not as fond of his titles anymore.) entry, is a mystery.

It actually makes no utter sense whatsoever! How did this man die in an airplane crash and appeared in Surrey?! It has no sense! No one has been any near to solve this case – they were even mocking the interpretations normal people (and I) made on John's Blog – printed them and for some reason, decided to show them off on Scotland Yard. They should be really proud (– I bet it was Anderson's idea)

_**Thursday, August 12, 2010.**_

"Hat-Man and Robin."

I thought John was making funny titles for his blog entries so people would be interested in reading them, but that one was actually on the paper. Whether they're mocking 'the detective and the blogger', I don't know and I actually don't matter that much– John is the one that would normally explain this kind of behavior – but after the 'confirmed bachelor: John Watson' publication, he won't be willing to explain.

_**Wednesday, September 15, 2010.**_

I was dragged to the Queen's_ humble _place today with nothing more than a blanket on – Mycroft wasn't particularly happy with that. He spoke to us about some… issues the Crown had – of the photographic kind. All about the princess going out to the world, all alone – and with a striving desire to succumb to her…_ 'biological necessities'._

Oh, and I also stole an ashtray_. _

_**Thursday, September 16, 2010.**_

_Irene Adler – _professionally called _The Woman, _didn't seem to want anything with the compromising photos – a dominatrix indeed; and a clever one at that.

I _couldn't _make any deduction about her (_"You know the problem with a disguise? No matter how hard you try, it's always a self-portrait"). _She asked me about the case of the man killed by an accident (Two men, one car, one gazed to the sky, a loud noise and a boomerang).

A group of men (American) broke in but seconds later – a robbery to obtain the photographs;_ blackmail _for the Crown_. _John almost killed again; in my fault – again. (_Why won't he care enough for his own life to understand it's the fourth time this year I almost get him killed?) Either way,_ I took the cellphone from the safe box (-only to be taken back by Ms. Adler minutes later).

She drugged me to get her cellphone back – I hadn't slept under those effects for _years._

She also changed my ringtone, and for some reason, gave me her cellphone back.

_**Saturday, December 25, 2010.**_

Christmas came around… Molly got me a present, she wanted to look really good; I might have made a deduction that wasn't… nice – I had to _apologize_ to her. She was surprised by my next action – almost traumatized; she was trembling.

John had been counting the text I received from Irene – he seemed really annoyed because of them.

_**Sunday, March 13, 2010.**_

I acted weird for a few moments and Lestrade outright thought I was consuming again… they changed my sock organization -, it took me longer than normal to get them straight.

'1875', was _not_ her password.

John saw Irene – he believes I don't know about their meeting – ignored her necessity to disappear.

The American men that broke in Ms. Adler's home, kidnapped Ms. Hudson – I threw a man out of the window – lost count of how many times.

'221B' wasn't it, either. Nor '1058'.

Irene came back again – an explosion seemed inevitable: _The Flight of the Dead. 'Sherlock Holmes – Baffled' answer, right in front of us... _An elaborated game - elevated pulse, dilated pupils. _Sentiment._

Mycroft tried lying to me; I know she is still here – _I_ saved her… John gave me the cellphone in the end, no matter how wrong he thought he was.

_Why would they even want to know the real me? Why would John care so much about that? _

_**Thursday, March 17, 2011.**_

A twenty years old disappearance and the _'… footprints of a gigantic hound' – _a perfect way to demand someone's interest – all the job of one man alone: Henry Knight, who looked nothing more than a joke at first_. _

"_The demon hound" _– a bet and a lovely, little mind that followed the game John and I made up in a matter of seconds: "_Dogs the size of horses" _he said.

_Baskerville, _Mycroft's pass – whose name seems to open doors without a doubt; John used his own, helpful resources. Cages _'lots'_ of them; researches: biological and quimical; a gene –_Bluebell. _Twenty-_three _minutes. Believed it would take twenty. A man, risked his job to save us, generous of his part – he knew about Henry Knight.

"Liberty, In." – vague memories of the man. I thought it might have been related to "_Liberty in death". It wasn't._

_Dwellers' Hollow._ Loud noises, a howl, barely audible from where we stood, Henry paid no attention to it; and there it was: the gigantic_ hound; _but a blur of my imagination – _I know_. I don't like admitting it, but it was terrifying then. It was hard to believe, almost impossible. Would I sleep – I'd have nightmares.

"_Stick to the facts!" _ Emotions got the worst of me; there's nothing _wrong_ with _me,_ right?

_Liberty, Indiana. H.O.U.N.D. _Our minds played trick on us – showed us what we hoped and looked forward to see. The curse was on The Dwellers' Hollow itself – _the fog._ The mind of a child which transformed his memory into a worse nightmare that it already was – turned him _mad._

_**Monday, June 6, 2011.**_

After several weeks of being harassed by the media, Moriarty_ attempted _to steal the Crown Jewels (Well -, he wanted to call the attention; to turn the plot around).

He is to be judged tomorrow for breaking into the security of three different places: The Tower of London, the Bank of England and Pentonville Prison. They want me to testify; this shall be fun.

_**Monday, June 13, 2011.**_

_After Moriarty's trail (to which he was found un-guilty; which is ridiculous), he came here – to 221B, telling me "every fairytale needs a good old fashioned villain" and "I owe you a fall"._

Later, Lestrade called us for a _kidnap -, _two children; the younger left behind a trial for us to follow –nervous patterns (walked on his tiptoes) the girl held by the neck. The oil led us to a footprint that would be able to tell us where they could be.

_And envelope with bread crumbs, Addleston abandoned factory; candies, the Grimm Fairytales – Hansel and Gretel; mercury._

_A shout from the little girl. _

_I needed to sort things out. _Called a cab for my own; and a video – from Moriarty (who was driving the cab, actually): "I don't believe his stories (…) _even the King began to wonder…" – _not_ the final problem._

Ran out of the cab _("No charge!") _– an assassin saved me and was killed because of it; all of them, they need me_ alive. They needed something - , a code._

Moriarty planted and idea – ideas can't_ die._

He's been clever; planting doubts in those with weak minds – John seemed to be worried I might be a fraud.

Lestrade gave us a call to warn us they were coming.

They took me, soon, John followed… took him as my hostage. A graffiti had yet to remind me once again of what he said _"I O U"._

_The game changed "Sherlock Holmes is an_ ordinary_ man."_

_**Thursday, June 15, 2011.**_

Moriarty is dead – and, according to the media, so am I -, I'm not completely sure about neither.

"_Death of Fake Genius" _I'm called a _fake_ and I should know its' better that way.

John won't believe it – he won't believe the media – not even for a second, I'm afraid.

_I left a note _– but I am not entirely sure if going anywhere is wise_ (Just imagine! I'm unsure about something!); _but I do know I have to leave – at least for now. Not only because of what I did, but for John, Ms. Hudson… and Lestrade – I need to protect them just as they have protected me all along. I will leave… I probably won't be back (It _is _for the best). At least not as long as my name is that of a fake.

_**Friday, June 17, 2011.**_

I've been trying to live without anyone noticing I am actually alive; well… as alive as I can be (That is actually something foolish to say, I _am_ alive, but as shrinks would say: I am quite 'emotionally dead' - not that I have any care for emotions, at that), I've searched for cities I really hope my face is not as known as it was is London the last two days, and although some news spread all over the globe as fast as a disease – I've found a calm place near Norway, where they had no real knowledge of my face – alas, they do know what I've done.

_**Thursday, August 25, 2011.**_

As the days pass without my actual knowledge (– except for the vague times I dare to fall asleep, although they are not common.), I always find myself going around the place. Exploring, and observing the people around (: 52 divorced, 18 with open relationships, 15 with PSTD's, 23 cheaters, 72 with hearing problems, 2 with control issues, 7 with pagophabia, one burglar…), while it is vaguely entertaining, it had become a dull routine for me. There is no actual fun in it anymore. I guess I've decided to ignore my natural behavior, and I just idly decided to - although partially -, try not to call any attention towards my person; which was most difficult when a murder was lamely played in midtown vaguely a week ago. (It was almost _too_ obvious to even try to tell the police the answer they were looking for: The butcher with the unsteady hands and fresh blood-stains that wasn't at his store at that time of the morning was obviously the murderer.)

How did I found out? Well, I guess I just noticed the place was quieter than usual. And by noticing – I mean I knew exactly where it had happened.

_**Tuesday, October 15, 2011.**_

Something is not right… I need to go back to London. Might be staying at Molly's for all I care.

I really don't think she'll complain.

_**Friday, July 19, 2012.**_

I lighted up a cigarette today. And I couldn't stop lighting one, and the next, and the next.  
They all burned on the balcony because I remembered how hard Lestrade and John had fought against my addictions…

I watched them burn over the window pane all night, Molly didn't approve, but she didn't say anything.

_**Monday, September 2, 2013.**_

Some days I completely lose myself on my thoughts – how had it all happened? Was Moriarty playing a trick on me? Why was Molly so nice? Well, those thoughts took me farther than ever today.

They took me to a place – one I suppose was just an area of small companies (Two were bankrupt – three were closing, one was going to move…). Every single one of them had reflective panels all over the constructions – for small as they were; I walked beside them – not actually caring for the several reflections that plagued my eyes.

For some reason I swear one reflection showed me no other thing but a female – meanwhile there were no women around. I stopped to stare at the girl – noticing her long coat and high cheekbones. I presumed she was supposed to be myself in another dimension (_Am I even listening to myself?)._ Which was really ridiculous, but mirrors are told to be the door to different realms. And that idea became fascinating for me.

The only actual difference between us (except for anatomy, of course), was that another girl was just behind her – her John Watson (Or Joanne, for that matter)… and that was devastating for me.

She stopped dead on her tracks, just as I did – and out of curiosity, she stared back to the reflection – searching for my eyes. She smiled, and suddenly, she was searching for something behind me… my companion – I guess.

In a world as boring as this is, this shouldn't have happened; but that thought left my mind when I saw the sadness creeping through her eyes when she didn't find _him_. But she shrugged it off as the other girl caught up. And then they left, giving me pitiful smiles…

_I even had to turn around to remind myself that I was alone._

And that's it. He's had _enough_ – his hands travel over the last entry, noticing the small moisture that implied the paper had dried tears before. He slams the journal close with one swift movement, breaking the silence in the room, abruptly passing his fingers through his hair.

He takes a moment to calm himself down, holding the bridge of his nose and frowning –a habit he had picked up somewhere; the journal forgotten on the table beside him. It's been like that for hours but he had lost the track of time – he couldn't feel it. He's afraid he might not be able to feel anything anymore, but the rage boiling on his blood and the pitch of his stomach is powerful enough to defy that thought – he knows he will still feel guilty after all.

His chest tightens in a way it never had before – and it hurts. He's still angry. He wishes he had never left – he regrets his decisions. He's angry, and confused – heartbroken. He hadn't taken it as he wished he had. He won't accept it; but he is not the one to blame – he's made mistakes of his own. The man, once again – glances out the window, wondering.

He's noticed things he wouldn't have noticed long ago – the writing is nervous at some entries… sometimes it's as if he had written too fast (and indeed, he had) – sometimes he was angry… sometimes he was sad, even though whatever he wrote proved the contrary… Sometimes he was afraid, some entries had dried tears – some even had the smell of alcohol even after all the time that had passed. Some entries were hesitant – as if he had wished he never even thought of pouring his heart down on the notebook that lied beside him; it had a peculiar writing over all – as if he had been mostly sleep deprived when he wrote. When he had slept the night before, one could notice, the writing was cleaner, almost more elegant.

When that showed, he probably had had time to write everything he had done down – some were utterly detailed as if it was a dream that had been fascinating and hard to forget… some were evasive, as if he wished nothing had happened – he surely had skipped a lot of things – horrible things he either did not find important or found them unnecessary, some showed a deep level of self-hatred it was almost panicking… He had a weird mind, indeed.

The man cannot help to see that… he holds his head in both hands as he breathes deeply, in and out, and he does it again and again. Tears dwell in his eyes – and he doesn't know what else to do – what to deduce. He knows he shouldn't show emotions to a man so cold, he knows better than that… and then, he still crumbles – he crumbles to what he has felt – the guilt, the sorrow, the hatred he felt towards the other… _everything_.

And he punches the wall, frustrated – tears falling from his eyes... He's had enough of it.

_John Watson has had enough._


End file.
